


a slip of the hand

by MsImpala67



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Slow Burn, Teasing Merlin, pining dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:37:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Merlin dresses Arthur every day. It's his job. Which means that sometimes, his hands slip and he touches Arthur in ways he probably shouldn't.





	a slip of the hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MeganLouise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganLouise/gifts).



> Thanks for listening to me ramble on about these two and helping me focus my inspiration! XOXO

A slip of the hand. That’s all it was. 

Merlin finishes dressing Arthur like nothing happened, and Arthur doesn’t seem to think anything  _ has _ happened, which is lucky. Merlin couldn’t handle Arthur getting angry with him or teasing him at the moment. Usually he’s happy to engage in a battle of wits with his king, but right now, he’s dealing with some feelings he isn’t prepared to deal with. He needs his space. 

Not that there’s a lot of space involved in helping Arthur get dressed, of course. There’s mostly just Arthur’s arms and legs, his face only inches away, Merlin holding his hips back and out so they don’t press against Arthur’s. No, there’s barely space to  _ breathe _ , let alone move, which is why his hand absently brushed against Arthur’s ass in the first place.

If Arthur noticed, he’s treating it like the simple accident that it was. 

But Merlin feels embarrassed and awkward now.

It’s not the event itself. He could handle that. It’s that he’s  _ thought _ about doing that very thing more than once. Never _ truly  _ thought about it, never really allowed it to become a real idea, but it has definitely crossed his mind. He’s seen those muscles and that skin every day, and he’s wondered…

_ No.  _

Merlin leaves as soon as he’s able, runs outside and breathes in the fresh air like he hasn’t had any in days. It clears his head and he almost laughs at himself, at how ridiculous he’s acting about the whole thing. It’s certainly not the first time that’s happened between servant and master, and it certainly won’t be the last. He’s overreacting.

By the time he falls asleep that night, the whole incident has been forgotten. 

 

********

 

Merlin remembers it again the next day. He doesn’t mean to, but Arthur is standing there, chest bare and arms out waiting for a shirt, and Merlin remembers. It’s self-preservation, really. His mind just wants him to be a little more aware so that he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. That’s all.

Of course, thinking about it that way only makes him nervous. And  _ of course _ he does it again, a brush across the back of Arthur’s neck this time that lasts a little too long. 

Only this time, Arthur is staring straight at him. Their eyes lock, and Merlin knows that Arthur knows, that he felt it, that he’s not ignoring it this time. 

But much to Merlin’s surprise, he doesn’t seem angry. Every tilt of Arthur’s chin, every movement of his eyebrows, every expression his face can give is familiar, is seared in Merlin’s memory from seeing them again and again, and this one isn’t anger. It’s…curiosity?

That can’t be right. 

Again, Merlin hurries as best he can and gets the hell out of Arthur’s chambers. It takes a little longer for it to wear off today, a little longer for him to decide that he’s making something out of nothing, but he still falls asleep with ease.

 

********

 

The next day, Arthur  _ watches _ him. Merlin can feel eyes on him no matter which direction he’s facing, can sense that everything he does is being seen in a way it usually isn’t. He does his best to hide the slight tremble in his hands as he reaches around Arthur’s neck to straighten the collar of his shirt. 

Merlin risks one glance at Arthur’s face, and it’s there again, that curiosity. And again, Merlin has that almost-thought, that vague question of  _ what if _ that whispers in the back of his mind. 

So without a second thought, Merlin brushes his hand against the back of Arthur’s neck again, this time while holding his gaze. The corner of Arthur’s mouth turns up just barely, just enough to let Merlin know that  _ yes, he knows _ and  _ no, he isn’t going to say anything _ . 

The rest of the day doesn’t fade the touch from Merlin’s mind now, and it’s all he thinks about as he goes about the rest of his duties. He isn’t sure which he finds more surprising- that he wants to touch Arthur or that Arthur wants to be touched.

Either way, he drifts to sleep with that and  _ only _ that on his mind. 

 

********

 

After that, it’s a game.

Every morning, Merlin helps Arthur get dressed. And every morning, he finds some new way to touch him. Sliding his hands up Arthur’s calves as he puts on his boots. Resting his fingers on Arthur’s waist after he settles his shirt in the right place. Not bothering to keep his hands away from Arthur’s body when he buckles his belt. Brushing against every available surface of Arthur’s body as it’s exposed to him.

The touches started out innocent, but now Merlin is doing things he never dreamed, touching in places and moving his hands in ways that are  _ beyond _ inappropriate. 

And Arthur never says a word. 

At first he seemed amused, tolerant, like he didn’t think Merlin had the stones to go farther. Now he just seems hungry, leaning into it, lips almost pouting when Merlin is finished. 

But he won’t say anything. Won’t acknowledge what is so obviously going on. 

And now that Merlin is sure he isn’t doing anything Arthur doesn’t want, he can’t help himself. His hands are all over Arthur, running over broad shoulders to memorize the rounds and dips of them, snaking around Arthur to practically hold him instead of just walking to stand on the other side. 

Arthur has started playing along, shrugging back to expose the full expanse of his chest, bending down to rub invisible dirt off his boots to show off exactly how tight his pants are. Merlin leaves every day feeling a little like he’s had too much wine, warm and dizzy and with a longing in his gut he’s never felt before. 

This is insanity, isn’t it? Merlin can’t have those kinds of feelings, certainly not for  _ Arthur _ . Most days, Merlin isn’t even sure whether he  _ likes  _ Arthur. And the man is his king. His master. This is not only insanity, it’s impossible.

And yet, Merlin can’t stop.

It’s a fortnight of torture after that, day after day of Merlin touching and teasing and wishing for things he isn’t allowed to have. It’s strange to feel so awful and tormented about it, because Merlin has also never felt more alive, more happy and free than he does these days. He wants to laugh constantly, wants to skip rather than walk because that’s how light he is with the feel of Arthur’s body tingling in his fingertips. He isn’t sure if he wants this to stop right away or go on forever. 

Arthur ends up making that decision for him. 

Merlin is blatantly staring at Arthur’s chest one morning as he unfolds his shirt, and Arthur tilts his head to the side, lips pursed in a way that makes Merlin want to touch  _ them _ instead of Arthur’s arms. “You know, servants really shouldn’t touch their king.”

Merlin’s heart starts thudding in his chest, and he isn’t sure if it’s fear or excitement. Maybe there’s no difference between the two right now.

Merlin smiles just a little and does his best to maintain a normal tone of voice. “Kings don’t usually  _ let _ their servants touch them for weeks on end before telling them that.”

It’s almost as if Arthur was waiting for Merlin to say just that. His hands are suddenly on Merlin’s shoulders, pushing him back forcefully, moving until Merlin’s back is pressed against the wall. Were his hands always so big? Merlin feels like they’re big enough to hold him in place just by pushing on his shoulders. 

Arthur leans close, their noses close enough to brush if Merlin isn’t careful not to move. “You can’t speak to me that way, Merlin. I’ve told you that before.”

Merlin’s voice is barely a whisper now, throat tight as he does his best not to lean into Arthur. “When have I ever listened?”

Arthur’s eyes are darker than usual, and Merlin can feel the challenge between them. 

Merlin is going to touch him again. 

This time, Arthur meets him halfway.

Arthur’s lips aren’t as soft as they look, and Merlin’s actually a little grateful for that. It grounds him into the moment and forces him to calm down just a tiny bit. But despite that minor flaw, Arthur is still Arthur, and he’s as good at this as he is everything else. He’s warm, completely surrounding Merlin as their lips move slowly, learning the shape of each other, figuring out where to fit together. Merlin closes his eyes and memorizes the feel of it, arrogant and annoyingly perfect, which is exactly what it should be, and so  _ right _ it makes him want to cry. 

Merlin opens his eyes. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Arthur’s lips are shining wet and his cheeks are flushed, so so close to Merlin’s face that he has to resist the urge to just kiss him again. 

“That you wanted me to touch you.”

“Merlin? Shut up.”

Before he knows what Arthur plans to do, he’s being half-lifted and tossed to the bed, landing with a bounce on all those thick blankets he’s always wondered the feel of. He’s too preoccupied to pay attention to them now, because Arthur is still coming at him, and he’s still not wearing a shirt, and Merlin wants to touch all the places he hasn’t yet.

Arthur kneels over Merlin for just a second, hands on either side of Merlin’s head, caging him in. There’s only room for their breaths between them, barely enough room for Merlin’s fingers as he runs his hands from Arthur’s collar bones down to his hips, playing over every line. There are scars he wants to ask about, a couple moles he wants to kiss, one dark bruise he wishes he could heal with his magic. 

Arthur closes his eyes and lets him touch, breathes hard through his nose as Merlin explores.

These touches are certainly not accidental, and they aren’t teasing and hesitant any longer. They aren’t masked behind anything, and there is no mistaking  _ exactly _ what Merlin means when he slides his fingers just under the hem of Arthur’s pants and rubs at the dip of his spine, right where the swell of his ass starts. 

Arthur groans and pushes back into his hands. The whole world narrows down to just this bed. Camelot could be burning down around them and Merlin wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t care. Arthur’s skin is hot and soft, muscles thick and firm beneath it, and Arthur’s hands are touching him now, too. Those fingers are exploring underneath Merlin’s shirt, rough calluses from training, rubbing hard against Merlin’s ribs. 

The next kiss is wet and frantic, teeth a little harder than is comfortable, which only makes Merlin dig in harder. He wants to feel  _ all _ of Arthur.

And apparently, Arthur wants to feel all of him, too. 

When Merlin feels the hardness between Arthur’s legs, pushing through layers of fabric to press against his own cock, he groans into Arthur’s mouth. That’s when Arthur smirks into their kiss and squeezes a little harder. 

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks, Merlin,” he murmurs. “You didn’t think I was going to let you get away with that, did you? It’s my turn.”

Merlin rolls his eyes even as he gasps, Arthur’s teeth scraping down his neck. They’re going to argue about even this, argue even when they are desperate for each other. 

But Merlin wouldn’t want it any other way, and it’s an argument he’s more than willing to have. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is my lifeblood! XOXO


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